


When Johnny Comes Marching Home

by shesasurvivor (starkist)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, American Civil War, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkist/pseuds/shesasurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her family was killed, innocent victims caught in a skirmish, Johanna cut her hair and joined the rebel army seeking revenge. Now she's a captured POW in a Union prison. While she waits for freedom, she finds companionship in an unlikely place. American Civil War historical AU, written for the Hunger Games 2013 Holiday Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Johnny Comes Marching Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deathmallow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmallow/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Deathmallow! I hope you enjoy your story!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to those who helped with this story.

Two weeks. That’s how long she had been stuck in this camp.

 

At first it hadn’t bothered her. The Old Capitol Prison was harsh, but it was clean. Prisoners were even allowed to purchase food for themselves, if they could afford it. Johanna hadn’t minded the situation, especially since it was supposed to be temporary. Soon enough, the Confederacy would rescue her, or maybe even declare victory in the waging war and then she would be set free. But the Confederacy hadn’t shown, and Johanna was beginning to have her doubts.

 

To make matters worse, the prisoners weren’t allowed to communicate with one another. Each day was expected to be filled with silence, only their own thoughts and orders from the prison guards to occupy their minds. In most ways, and at most times, it was positively awful. The cells were rooms that, in former incarnations, had once served as classrooms, bedrooms, and even meetings for the Union congress. Now they were partitioned off so as to fit as many prisoners as possible. There were four total on Johanna’s cell.

 

The most entertaining thing that happened around here was the local town girl who came by almost daily to give fresh bread to the prisoners, and occasionally a bit of something extra, such as fish or cheese, and then offer to read to them from the Bible she clutched at her side. Johanna accepted the food, but refused the latter at first. Eventually, though, she agreed to it as well. Anything to break up the monotony.

 

Sometimes the mail arrived, and while prisoners were allowed to send letters out, they were all intercepted by Yankee soldiers, lest any pertinent information be leaked to the Confederacy. Letters with detailed plans for escape, information on Confederate plans the Yankees could use against them, or Yankee plans overheard on accident that could be used by the Confederacy were thrown out. Only letters to let loved ones know they were still alive were allowed.

 

Johanna had no loved ones left to correspond with.

 

The prison was run by a man named Thread, a stern man who ran a tight ship. No nonsense was allowed under his watchful eye. Fortunately, his sight could only be in one place at a time. And eventually, the guards began to let their watch relax some.

 

It was the night guard who encouraged them to ignore the rules and talk to each other anyway. “All this silence is going to drive me insane,” he told them.

 

“Aren’t you afraid we’ll plot to overtake you and escape?” Johanna, whose section of the room was nearest to the door, asked.

 

Haymitch just let out a laugh. “I hope you do, Joe,” he answered. “This place could use a little spunk, something to liven it up.”

 

Suspicious, the other prisoners and Johanna preceded to follow his advice with caution. At first just a question was asked, here or there. Do you have any tobacco on you? Do you happen to remember the date? Then the questions became more complex. Where are you from? What’s your name? Before long, the group gathered together regularly to pass the time with poker and talk.

 

The blond one, a few years Johanna’s junior, was named Peeta Mellark. He was from someplace in the Appalachian Mountains in Virginia, and had a wife and two children waiting for him. The one with bronze hair was called Finnick Odair, and came from the Louisiana coast. Before the war, he had worked as a fisherman. Though he was older than Peeta - probably somewhere around Johanna’s age, if she had to guess - he had not yet taken a wife. But they soon realized he had become quite taken with the girl Annie Cresta. The third man they referred to by Marvel, which Johanna understood to be his last name. She wasn’t sure if anyone knew his first. He came from one of the wealthy plantations down south, the oldest son who stood to inherit the family fortune, or lose it all if the Union had its way.

 

To them, Johanna was simply known as Joe Mason, a poor boy who joined the Confederate Army for pay and direction in his life. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Johanna was alone in this world now that her family was gone, save for one distant uncle. But this was her business, and no one else’s. She didn’t tell them they were gone, and that she had joined the Army out of a sense of seeking furious revenge on the people who had stolen her life from her. And oh yes, there was also the little fact that she was actually a woman. These were all secrets no one else needed to know.

 

Regardless, the group seemed to become some sort of bastardized family, if that made any sense at all. Their company was a welcome end to the silence that had ruled over them all in triumphant misery.

 

One night, Peeta came out of his partition with a piece of paper and pen in hand. “Can I read my letter to my wife to you folk? I want to hear feedback.”

 

“Sure, Peeta,” Finnick answered from his cell. If you must, Johanna thought to herself as she rolled her eyes, but kept silent.

 

There was a pause, in which only the soft rustling of paper was heard. Then Peeta cleared his throat.

 

 _“My dearest Katniss,”_ he began in a loud, theatrical voice. _“Not a day goes by where I do not yearn for you. I am still imprisoned in this Yankee cell. The days are long, and the nights are cold, especially without you by my side, my love, to keep my body and my heart ablaze. The food we are fed is not terrible, but it hardly compares to your cooking. I dream of your homemade stew; I hope to taste it again as soon as I return. Nothing would bring me greater happiness than to one day prepare your favorite cheese bun for you once more. Until that day comes, I will dream of you every night, see you in every glimmer of the forest I catch from my cell window. My every heartbeat is yours. Please tell the children I love them. I will return to them, and you, too, my love, one day. Until then, please remain strong._

 

_All my love,_

 

Peeta”

 

A brief silence followed. Then riotous laughter filled the hall as Johanna threw her head back.

 

“What’s so funny?” Peeta demanded.

 

“That is the sappiest shit I have ever heard!” She managed to get in between breaths.”’My body and heart ablaze?’”

 

“What’s wrong with it?” There was no mistaking the note of defensiveness in Peeta’s voice.

 

“Yes, what’s wrong with it?” Finnick echoed. Heaven only knew what he was so upset about.

 

Johanna rolled her eyes again. “Nothing, I suppose.” Except it makes me want to vomit, she thought to herself.

 

“Well… thank you for your input,” Peeta said. “I think I’m going to go to bed now.”

 

The others murmured their agreement, and each retired to their bed for the night.

 

An hour passed. Then two. Johanna estimated it to be some time around midnight based on the location of the moon in the sky, at least as far as she could tell from the tiny hole that passed for a window. Judging by the sound of the others’ breathing, it was a safe bet to say that she was the only one still awake. Her and the guards, at least.

 

“Here.” Haymitch’s voice came from out of the dark. There was a sound, like something clanging against the prison bars.

 

“What’s that?” Johanna asked.

 

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

 

In most cases, if someone said something like this to Johanna, she would have told the man exactly where he could put it. She was tempted to do so now, but something about the tone of Haymitch’s voice gave her pause. It was against her better judgement, but cautiously she moved in his direction. Up close, she could just make out a cup Haymitch held out to her through the cell door. “Thank you,” Johanna muttered as she accepted his gift and took a small sip. A harsh, spicy taste greeted her tongue, leaving her mouth dry as she swallowed it. It wasn’t what she was expecting, but whiskey hardly fazed her by this point in her deception.

 

“Thought you could use something to help you relax,” Haymitch said. “Maybe something to help you stomach your fellow inmates?”

 

Johanna had to let out a laugh. “Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so,” she told him.

 

“Hardly,” he said, taking a long sip. “The kid is a little flowery.”

 

“A little?”

 

“All right, extremely flowery. He misses his wife and family. And his freedom. Can’t fault him for that.”

 

Johanna studied him the best she could through the faint moonlight illuminating her cell. It was a strange thing for a Yankee guard to say, defending the enemy. Even befriending them, like he was now. At least, that’s what she supposed he was doing. She couldn’t really think of anything else to explain why they were sharing a drink now. The thought pulled her up short. Friends with one of these dirty Yanks? The very same that killed her family, and destroyed the only life she knew? “I need to go to bed,” she said dryly, handing the cup back to him.

 

“Suit yourself,” Haymitch said with a shrug and gulped down the remaining liquor in the cup himself.

 

Johanna did suit herself, curling up on the small cot so that her knees came up to her stomach. Her mind drifted to the family she had lost, the sound of her father’s laugh, the way her mother would smooth out her dress and remind her to be a lady, but then look her over with a gleam of pride in her eye. Wonder what she would think of me now? she thought. Parading around in these dingy uniforms, downing whiskey without a second thought. Pretending to be a man. The thoughts and memories swirled in her mind until at last she drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“When I’m out of here, first thing I intend to do is get a great big ol’ thing of grits back home,” Marvel said over his set of cards the following day. “Maybe not anything like what my Mama made me, but it’ll sure as hell beat the tarnation out of what we get here!”

 

The other men and Johanna all murmured their agreement.

 

“When I get out of here… “ Peeta began.

 

“We know,” Marvel smirked. “You’ll rush straight home to your beloved wife and write her a sonnet.” The group laughed as Peeta blushed a bright red.

 

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Peeta stammered, though if Johanna had to wager a guess, she supposed it probably was what he was going to say. “I can’t wait to eat some of her lamb stew again, though. It’s the best you’ve ever tasted.” Smacking sounds were heard as all the men imagined what it would taste like. Peeta got a distant look in his eyes. “Of course, I’d be lying if I said I won’t be happy to see her and the children again. It was months since I last had leave before I was put in here.”

 

A silence fell over the group. It was one thing to poke fun at Peeta for his overly romantic declarations, but no one could fault him for missing home, the peaceful life he had left behind. That they had all left behind.

 

“I plan to call on Miss Cresta once I’m out,” Finnick announced after the silence had gone on for several long minutes. “Maybe her Pa won’t approve of a Confederate soldier courting his daughter. But I have to try.”

 

Marvel and Johanna exchanged a look and a snicker, but Peeta only gave him an encouraging smile. “You should,” he told Finnick. The latter returned the smile.

 

“What about you, Joe?” Finnick asked, looking up at Johanna from over the top of his cards. “What do you want to do once you’re out of here?”

 

Johanna thought about it for a minute. “Take a bath,” she said simply. The others laughed.

 

“You could do that here,” Finnick pointed out. “But you never go down for wash day.”

 

This would take some quick thinking. “I’ve had some bad experiences with water,” she shrugged. “They did stuff to me when I first got here.” It was a plain lie, but surely no one would question it. And it seemed to work, since all three of the other men gave her sympathetic looks and didn’t press the issue. Only Haymitch caught her eye, sitting in the hallway outside their cell, his chair leaned back so it balanced against the wall. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

 

Marvel won the game several moments later, and the conversation was over. Praise the Lord Almighty, Johanna thought to herself as the group broke up. It was hard keeping her secret sometimes, though in the back of her mind she wondered if it would really be so bad if she were found out. What would it matter? She wasn’t exactly out on the battlefields as she intended. Then again, Johanna didn’t have what Finnick and Peeta did to look forward to. There was no one left she loved.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch drank again that night. “Are you ever without liquor, old man?” Johanna asked as the soft snores of the others wafted up around her.

 

“What’s it to you?” Haymitch snorted.

 

“The least you could do is share,” Johanna retorted.

 

“What, you don’t need to get some sleep tonight?”

 

“Just hand it over,” she shot back, moving to the cell door. She could hear Haymitch chuckling to himself as he searched for the spare cup, then poured some of the alcohol into it.

 

“Here you are,” he said as he handed it over. Johanna reached for it, snatching it away and gulping it down gratefully.

 

“You were thirsty,” Haymitch said. “Memories of your fictional water torture too much for you?”

 

Johanna glared at him. “Who says it’s fictional?”

 

“I do,” Haymitch said. “We don’t torture people with water around here. We’re not organized for that.”

 

“Have it your way,” Johanna rolled her eyes.

 

“‘Course, I don’t blame you for telling such a tall tale,” Haymitch continued. “I would too, if I were hiding the fact that I was a woman.”

 

“What?” Johanna was otherwise wordless; she could only stare.

 

“Don’t bother denying it,” Haymitch told her as he took a sip.

 

She held her stare as she weighed out her options. On the one hand, she felt a need to keep up the charade no matter what. It was the only defense she had, somehow. If not to protect herself, then to protect the memories of her old life, the honor of her family. On the other hand, what was the use if Haymitch had already caught on? She had to admit he was more shrewd than she would have originally given him credit for. Besides, out of anyone in this prison, she found he was the one she could stomach the most. He didn’t make dramatic declarations of love or honor, or insist there was more nobility to this useless war than there really was.

 

She opted for neither denying or confirming his suspicion. “Are you going to tell everyone?” she asked instead, and was pleased to note she sounded more bored than anything.

 

Haymitch snorted. “What for? I’m sure you have your reasons.”

 

“You better believe I do,” she shot back, though she was beginning to doubt them more and more. Not that she would ever admit that.

 

“Better watch yourself, though,” Haymitch said. “The water torture was a clever story, but sooner or later, they’ll probably catch on.”

 

“Not if I leave first.” Johanna wasn’t sure why she said it. It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.

 

“And exactly how are you going to do that?” Haymitch gave a short laugh as he poured himself another drink.

 

“The same way you get that moonshine in here without anyone noticing. I’ll smuggle myself out.”

 

“You do that, sweetheart.”

 

* * *

 

The days passed, one after the other, though they were beginning to blend into each other at this point. Only the daily deliverance of mail and the paper some of the guards carried on them helped the prisoners keep track of time. To pass the time, they played more poker, or dominoes, or simply sat around shooting the breeze. Stories were passed around, becoming more and more incredulous as they went along. Rumors popped up about the war, about the president, and about escape attempts from the prison. Some said there were plans for a secret tunnel being dug by other prisoners, though Johanna had her doubts on that one. Thread’s guards may be lax, but he made damn good and sure the miserable place was secure. More believable were the stories about prisoners who faked their own death, then simply got up and walked away once placed outside to be disposed of. Johanna had to admire the audaciousness of those men if it were true. Maybe she would even try it herself one day.

 

One day, Peeta let out a little cry of joy after the mail had been passed around. “It’s from my wife!” he happily explained, clutching tightly to the envelope he proudly showed off to the rest of the crowd.

 

“They let that get through?” Finnick asked, looking curious.

 

“I suppose so,” Peeta answered, tearing into the envelope.

 

“Ooh, you should read it aloud, Mr. Mellark!” It was Annie Cresta’s daily stop by their cell, which had curiously lasted at least half an hour as she spoke to Finnick.

 

“Oh… all right.” Peeta’s cheeks blushed a light pink and he frowned a little. Was he… hesitant? That was an interesting development, considering how much he loved to gush over anything to do with Katniss Mellark. His blue eyes darted back and forth across the paper as he read the letter quickly to himself at first.

 

“Get on with it, Mellark,” Marvel smirked at him.

 

“All right,” he mumbled, nodding. He held the letter out and cleared his throat. The rest of the room fell into a hush as he began to read.

 

_“Dear Peeta,_

 

_Things are well here. The children are healthy. I have begun to teach Dilly to help with the chores. Peeta Jr. is teething. The goat had her kids the other day; we can sell some of her milk for money. My cousin Gale called on us the other day and fixed a leak in the roof. Please return soon._

 

_Katniss”_

 

At first, the room was quiet. Then Johanna laughed. So did Marvel. Even Finnick had to bite back a grin.

 

“What’s so funny?” Peeta demanded.

 

“Your wife is very… practical,” Finnick explained. “Not what we imagined.”

 

“That’s putting it lightly,” Johanna said as she doubled over. Marvel was laughing so hard he couldn’t even speak.

 

“Stop laughing at him!” Annie cried. “Peeta loves her and I think she must be lovely if he does.”

 

“Thank you, Miss Cresta,” Peeta smiled at her.

 

“You’re right,” Finnick conceded, though he was still fighting back that smile. “We shouldn’t laugh at him.”

 

Peeta just shook his head. “It’s all right. I’m the romantic one in this marriage. Katniss has always shown her affection in subtle ways.”

 

Johanna relayed the story to Haymitch later that night when she joined him for their nightly drink. It had become something of a ritual for them by now, to laugh at the antics of everyone else over a thing of liquor. Haymitch had stayed true to his word and not shared her secret with anyone. What was more, he also didn’t seem to treat her any differently. He still drank and swore and spoke openly about the affairs of the world.

 

Now, though, he wore a wide grin as Johanna finished the story. “The kid is all right,” he said once she was finished. “Sappy as hell, but he’s all right.”

 

“I suppose,” Johanna admitted. “It’s a shame about the sappy thing, though.”

 

“He misses her. And his home. Can you blame him, after being in here? I’m surprised you don’t see that yourself.”

 

Johanna was quiet as she mulled this over in her mind. “I don’t really have anything to go back home to,” she said at last.

 

Haymitch gave her a sympathetic look, but shrugged. “Me neither,” he said. “Nothing but an empty house and a whole lot of liquor. And maybe some geese.”

 

“Don’t you have any family?” Johanna asked.

 

“None left alive. My Ma and brother died some years ago. My Pa died well before that. Had a sweetheart back in the day, but she’s gone, too.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Johanna said because she really meant it, and because she related. Oh, could she ever relate.

 

“Don’t be,” Haymitch said. “We all go at some point. Hasn’t this war taught us that?”

 

“It sure has,” Johanna agreed.

 

“What about you, sweetheart? What brings you to this miserable neck of the woods?”

 

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart,’” Johanna said with a sarcastic smile. But then her story came forward. All of it. She found herself telling Haymitch about her own Ma and Pa, and being the second born of three daughters. How her Pa ran a lumber business and would occasionally give Johanna lessons on how to properly wield an axe, much to her mother’s chagrin. How loved she was, how much happiness there had been in their home.

 

Then the war had broken out, and before they had gotten a chance to escape, all had been killed in the crossfire of a skirmish that had broken out in her small hometown. Only Johanna had made it out alive. She had an uncle, Blight, who lived in a neighboring town. He was her only kin left. It was either move in as his ward, or seek revenge on the Yankees for stealing her family away. Johanna chose revenge.

 

When she was finished, Haymitch just poured her another drink. “Isn’t this the part where you give me some sort of lecture or something?” she asked, bitterness dripping in her voice.

 

“What for?” Haymitch shrugged. “I would have done the same.”

 

* * *

 

The news arrived with all the fanfare to be expected. General Lee had surrendered. The war was over at last. Who knew how long it would take to sort out the fates of the captured prisoners. The whole city was in chaos as it celebrated the victory.

 

“Are you happy to go home?” Haymitch asked on one of their remaining night socials.

 

“Sure,” Johanna told him. “Aren’t you?”

 

“Sure,” he smiled back.

 

She laughed, because by now it was a joke for both of them. A sad, pathetic joke on the state of their empty lives, but a joke nonetheless. Johanna regarded him a moment before settling on her decision.

 

“Look, Haymitch, I know we’re enemy soldiers and all, but now that we’re the same country again, if you ever want to keep in touch… “ And she gave him her uncle’s address, since it was almost certain that was where she was going.

 

“Thank you,” Haymitch said, looking genuinely touched.

 

They were finally freed the following morning. Thread and an entire league of guards showed up, unlocking the cell doors one by one. Johanna was allowed to leave with her fellow cellmates and an armed escort walked them across the prison grounds. She searched for Haymitch, hoping to get a final goodbye in to the man who singlehandedly kept her sanity in tact. She couldn’t find him. She would have to hope that he had held on to her address, as well as his promise to write.

 

Outside the prison walls, they were free at last, but also left to their own devices. No arrangements were made to ensure a trip home. Johanna figured Peeta would find a way to his home in West Virginia come hell or high water. Marvel probably had enough money to pay for his own transportation. And Finnick was probably heading straight for Annie Cresta’s house anyway. The goodbye was awkward--what was there to really say to the people you had been confined so closely with, but now had little in common?

 

Peeta was the one to break the silence. “Keep in touch,” he told them. The group nodded in agreement and exchanged personal information. Then they bid farewell.

 

* * *

 

Normal life had taken some adjusting. After being on the battlefield, running for your life, and months inside a Yankee prison, life was now so normal, so quiet, that Johanna was sometimes uncertain whether she could learn how to adapt. But the war never truly left her. She revisited it in her dreams, and sometimes without warning during the day. She tried not to think about it. That time was gone.

 

At first, she had refused to look at the letters the others had sent her. They had kept their promise to keep in touch, and while Johanna couldn’t deny that a part of her was pleasantly surprised, she still couldn’t see why it mattered. That time was over, and she just wanted to move on. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing every time one arrived. There were several from Peeta--no surprise there. A few from Finnick that arrived from the capital. There was even one from Marvel. But there were none from Haymitch.

 

She went about her daily business trying not to think about it. He had been a nice distraction during a different time of her life. And an enemy soldier at that. It shouldn’t matter whether he wrote or not. She told herself this a hundred times a day, but she still found herself thinking about him at night when the memories became too much and, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, she craved comfort from someone who understood. Or just the liquor that burned her throat, and a good laugh from a sympathetic soul.

 

Johanna was turning mattresses one day when her Uncle Blight called her downstairs. Grumbling to herself about being interrupted in the middle of a task she didn’t want to do in the first place, she headed downstairs to see what he wanted.

 

He stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her. “You have a visitor,” he said.

 

“A visitor?” Johanna repeated, furrowing her brow. Who would possibly be visiting her? Perhaps the Confederate Army had finally figured out her secret, and had come to… what, exactly? She wasn’t sure if there was anything they could do at this point. But she wished she had been there to see the looks on their faces when they had made the discovery. Just the thought of it made her smirk.

 

“A Mr. Abernathy,” her uncle explained. “He claims to have made your acquaintance while you were masquerading as a man.”

 

“Mr. Abernathy?” Her eyes widened. Uncle Blight nodded, but before he could get another word in, Johanna pushed past him and hurried to the front hall. And there, as sure as the moon rose in the heavens, stood Haymitch.

 

For a minute, they just stared at each other. Johanna wasn’t entirely convinced he was actually there. Maybe this was one of those visions she had occasionally. But no. Her uncle had seen him, too. He was here, he was real. And he was tipping his hat to her, offering her a grin. “How do you do, miss?” he asked.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Johanna blurted out.

 

Haymitch raised an eyebrow. “Good to see you too, sweetheart. I can leave if you’d like,” he said, turning for the door.

 

“No!” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. But maybe… just this once… showing how she truly felt wasn’t such a bad idea.

 

Haymitch smiled and Johanna smiled back. Collecting herself, she asked, “Would you care for something to drink?” The corners of her lips twitched up.

 

“Miss Mason,” Haymitch said in his best Southern drawl, “It would be my honor.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Old Capitol Prison was a real prison during the Civil War, located in Washington D. C. Before its time as a prison, the building was also used as a school, a boarding house, a hotel, and served as the former Capitol building for congress, resulting in the name.
> 
> Title comes from an old Civil War song, popular on both sides. The song (and especially its melody) are still around today.
> 
> (Deathmallow, I suspect you already knew both of these factoids. :) )


End file.
